‘One of yours yeah, Bob?’
‘Yeah,’ I mouth, stomach gone.
They’ve got Kenny D, Spencer Boy, in his cheap checked underpants bent back over the table in the Black Christ Hold: head and back pinned down against the wood, arms outstretched, feet splayed, cock’n’balls open to the world.
Rudkin shuts the door.
The whites of Kenny’s eyes are on their stalks, straining to see who’s come into his upside-down hell.
He sees me and takes it in: five white coppers and him: Rudkin, Ellis, and me, plus the two uniforms holding him down.
‘Spot of routine questioning was all it was,’ laughs Rudkin. ‘Only Sambo here, he’s got a bit of a guilty conscience and decides to be the black Roger fucking Bannister.’
Kenny is staring up at me, teeth locked in pain.
The door opens behind me, then closes. I glance round. Noble’s got his back against the door, watching.
Rudkin smiles at me and says, ‘Been asking for you, Bob.’
My mouth’s dry and cracks when I ask, ‘Has he said anything else?’
‘That’s just it, isn’t it lads,’ Rudkin laughs along with the two uniforms. ‘You want to tell DS Fraser here, why it was you wanted to have a word with Sambo in first place?’
One of the uniforms, champing for his leg up, gushes, ‘Found some of his gear round number 3 Francis Street.’
He pauses, letting it sink in:
‘And then he denies even knowing the late Mrs Marie Watts,’ crows Rudkin.
I’m standing in the cell, walls closing in, the heat and stink rising, thinking,
‘I’ve told him,’ says Rudkin, ‘I’m going to add some blue to that black skin of his if he doesn’t start giving us some answers.’
Down on the table, Kenny closes his eyes.
I bend down, my mouth to his ear. ‘Tell them,’ I hiss.
He keeps his eyes closed.
‘Kenny,’ I say, ‘these men will fuck you up and no-one will give a shit.’
He opens his eyes, straining to stare into mine.
‘Stand him up,’ I say.
I go over to the far wall opposite the door; there’s a newspaper cutting taped to the grey gloss paint.
‘Bring him closer.’
They bring him in, eyeball to the wall.
‘Read it, Kenny,’ I whisper.
There’s blood on his teeth as he reads aloud the headline: ‘No action against policemen over detainee’s death.’
‘You want be the next fucking Liddle Towers?’
He swallows.
‘Answer me.’
‘NO!’ he screams.
‘So sit down and start talking,’ I yell, pushing him down into the chair.
Noble and Rudkin are smiling, Ellis watching me closely.
I say, ‘Now Kenny, we know you knew Marie Watts. All we want to know first is how come your fucking stuff was at her place?’
His face is puffed up, his eyes red, and I hope he’s fucking smart enough to know I’m his only friend here tonight.
At last he says, ‘I’d lost me key, hadn’t I?’
‘Come on, Kenny. It’s not fucking
‘I’m telling you. I’d taken some stuff from my cousins and I lost my key and Marie says it was all right to dump it at hers.’
I look up at Ellis and nod.
DC Ellis brings his fists down hard from behind into Kenny’s shoulder blades.
He screams, falling to the floor.
I’m down there with him, eyeball to eyeball.
‘Just fucking tell us, you lying piece of black shit.’
I nod again.
The uniforms haul him back up into the chair.
He’s got his fat pink mouth hanging open, tongue white, hands to his shoulders.
‘Oh, why are we waiting, joyful and triumphant,’ I start singing as the others join in.
The door opens and another bloke looks in, laughing, and then goes back out.
I give the sign and it stops.
‘You were fucking her, just say it.’
He nods.
‘I can’t hear you,’ I whisper.
He swallows, closes his eyes, and whispers, ‘Yeah.’
‘Yeah what?’
‘I was…’
‘Louder.’
‘Yeah. I was fucking her, right.’
‘Fucking who?’
‘Marie.’
‘Marie who?’
‘Marie Watts.’
‘What about her, Kenny?’
‘I was fucking her, Marie Watts.’
He’s crying; big fat fucking tears.
‘You dumb fucking monkey.’
I feel Rudkin’s hand on my back.
I turn away.
Noble winks.
Ellis stares.
It’s over.
For now.
I stand in the white corridor outside the canteen.
I call home.
No answer.
They’re still at the hospital or up in bed; either way she’ll be fucked off.
I see her father in the bed, her walking up and down the ward, Bobby in her arms, trying to get him to stop crying.
I hang up.
I call Janice.
She answers.
‘You again?’
‘You alone?’
‘For now.’
‘What about later?’
